


To Whom I Owe The Pleasure

by Anonymous



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Coming Untouched, Exhibitionism, F/M, Humiliation, Inappropriate use of Axii, M/M, but very light, hypnosis/mind control, this is a very playful fic i think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25195084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jaskier is still struggling to keep his embarrassing little Axii-induced habit under control.Geralt is starting to think he's cursed Jaskier's dick.The sequel toIndiscretionthat nobody asked for!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 129
Collections: Anonymous





	To Whom I Owe The Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> Hello it's me! I finally figured out how to post anonymously. Anyway, the response to my last Axii fic blew me away, so I decided to finally start releasing the sequel that I wanted to follow it up with. 
> 
> An enormous digital kiss sent to the lovely [Chantress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chantress/pseuds/Chantress) who did a podfic of my work and made me realise I use the word "minutely" way too much. 
> 
> Warnings will be updated per chapter! Chapter titles are delightful bits of 18th century sexual slang which delight me.

Jaskier was playing court bard again. The family were letting him stay because his name preceded him, and it was fashionable to have a Famous Name staying in one's mansion. The count and his wife couldn't give a toss about the music he played, preferring only to interact with him whenever they hosted a ball or a gala, but their lovely elder daughter shared no such disdain for his presence. 

Said daughter was currently running gentle fingers through his hair, smiling indulgently down at him as he played his lute. His head was on her lap, and he was gazing up at her face, so complicated fingering was out of the question: but the quiet strumming was pleasant, and her lap was terribly soft, and she was teasing all the tension out of him with every slight tug at his scalp. 

"You're a strange little fellow," she said with a laugh, and he raised an eyebrow. 

"How so?" 

"Well, let's see. You don't hunt with my father, and you fish like a commoner. You walk like a traveller, but when you eat, you eat like you've been raised noble. I can't tell if you're an idiot, or you're remarkably clever." 

"Oh, I'm definitely an idiot," Jaskier laughed, turning his head to her belly. "Never mistake me for a genius. What else do I do?"

Her hand trailed down his hip, pausing to run a finger along the brocade, the trim of his trousers. "You dress like a prince from a poem, but you swear like a sailor." 

"I could be both," Jaskier said, looking up at her with half lidded eyes. "I could be a tragically lost prince who was taken by pirates." 

Her fingers spread out across the fabric, warm and inviting, while her other hand continued to stroke just behind his ear. 

"You sigh like a maiden when someone plays with your hair."

"Someone, eh?" He gave her a wry look, and she nodded. 

"Someone." 

He did indeed sigh when she curled a lock around her finger and tugged again, just slightly, just enough to feel good. 

"You sing like a siren out in public, but when we're in private..." Her grin turned knowing. Her hand came to rest over his soft crotch, sending sparkling interest through his stomach. "You crow like a  _ cock _ ." 

He barely realised it was happening until it was too late, but he was coming. One moment he had been fine, vaguely horny maybe, intrigued and ready to actually get going with this lovely young woman, and the next, he was gasping and curling against her, mind going blank as his dick gave one huge throb that made his stomach somersault. 

"Oh fuck! Gods!"

And then it was over. 

She stared down at him. He stared up at her. 

"Did you just-" she said, and Jaskier pressed his lips together and swallowed. 

"It appears that I did. Hmm. Oops?"

She stared a moment longer, before bursting out into peals of laughter that shook him from his comfortable resting place on her thighs. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, but he defiantly tried not to look sheepish. 

"A single touch! Oh, little Dandelion, a single touch!"

Jaskier caught his breath and then caught her hand, determined to rescue the moment. 

"That's right, my dear Elizabet. One touch from your beautiful hand sundered my peace with pleasure. Tis only a compliment to your astounding beauty, nothing more. Oi, stop laughing." 

She finally calmed down just enough to give him an incredulous look. "I suppose that's that, then. No quick roll around in the bed for me."

"Elizabet, Elizabet, Elizabet," Jaskier sang, settling himself back on her thighs and pushing his hands up underneath her skirts. "You may have rendered one end of me out of commission, but my tongue is still as present as ever. If a tumble is what you want, a tumble is what you will get." 

She looked away for a moment, turning up her nose in a mockery of a sulk: but quickly she broke down as his fingers reached the edges of her undergarments. 

"I suppose I forgive you for coming in your breeches, then, if you'll return the favour."

Jaskier agreed to the deal, and in very little time, despite the fact that the lute was discarded on the floor, he managed to finally concentrate on some complicated fingering after all. 

* * *

Elizabet did not forgive him the second time it happened. He didn't blame her. 

He had entered into her slowly, carefully, but she had been greedy and enthusiastic, fucking herself into his cock and rubbing hard and fast over her own clit, her head tipping back in ecstasy. Jaskier couldn't help but marvel at her. Marvel at how she enjoyed herself, how she used him and fucked him, how she pleasured herself with short sharp thrusts so the head of his dick hit a spot that she apparently liked very much. He wasn't one to shy away from an overused cliché: it was like sinking into pure velvet. 

She couldn't do all the work. He snapped himself out of his stunned reverie and got to business. 

"Yes," she moaned, "oh, you - you - oh, slow down, slow down!" 

Jaskier slowed, easing his thrusts until he was almost torturously sliding in and out of her wet heat. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing, nothing, I'm just..." She gazed up at him, expression soft. "I didn't want it to end so soon. Or, rather, I want to prolong it. The pleasure. I was about to..." 

Jaskier laughed a little, and liked how it jostled him inside her. "I don't see a problem with that. Can't women go again?"

"I get overly sensitive," she admitted, eyes downcast. "We'd have to stop if I..." 

"Ah, I see. In that case... Slow. I can do slow.  _ Yep _ . Slow as treacle." 

She settled back into the pillows, content to lie back and enjoy herself, as his fingers mashed lazy circles into her clit while his dick continued its slow slide. 

"I knew you would be kind." 

Her hand came to his forehead to lift his sweaty fringe away from his forehead, and the action was so weirdly familiar that it caught Jaskier off guard. It reminded him of when Geralt had forcibly caught his head and lifted his fringe to check for injuries after a particularly boisterous hunt. His heart stuttered to a fond stop. 

"You did?" 

"Yes, I did. As soon as my father told me you would come here." 

Something very strange happened when she said  _ come _ . Jaskier felt a kick in his stomach, and the unmistakable sudden sense of spilling as his climax struck out of nowhere. Hurriedly he pulled out, and gasped in remorse as his stupid, idiotic,  _ stupid _ fucking prick spurted seed all over the bedsheets before going flatly, uselessly limp. 

Elizabet blinked several times. 

"I-" she began. "Jaskier! I wanted it to last!" 

"Yes, listen, this is - oh, fffuck, bugger-"

"Not just fingers this time! I wanted to get fucked!" 

"Oh, believe me, I wanted that just as badly-"

"What's wrong with you! This is the second time!"

And Jaskier, remembering the rose garden at a noble girl's ball, let out a tired sigh as he realised exactly  _ what _ was wrong with him. 

* * *

It was not healthy for a mind to be invaded by Axii for too long and too many times, so Geralt imposed strict time limits on their little games, despite Jaskier's protests. For starters, this was completely uncharted territory for the cantrip. The witcher method of learning signs was focused on the practical use rather than the theory. If any research on Axii had been done, the books were long lost and the men were long dead. So. Geralt was not about to let Jaskier be the guinea pig for a very inappropriate experiment. 

It was appropriate that these time limits should coincide with their natural separations as they happened. Their travels together would eventually conclude with the changing of the seasons, and Jaskier would go and hunker down in some dowager's bed or return to his beloved Oxenfurt to fuck and drink and cavort (and teach, if he were so disposed). And Geralt would do what he always did when Jaskier wasn't around. 

Travel. Kill monsters. Go to Kaer Morhen and check in on the other witchers. Rinse and repeat. 

So, since they would be separated, Geralt was always very careful to undo every single command he had given Jaskier thoroughly. They always tested it, and there had been no problems thus far. 

He has assumed that if there were problems, Jaskier would let him know somehow. Given the nature of said problems... well, Jaskier would probably come running, ready to smack the witcher upside the head until he fixed it. 

Funny how the idea of that made him laugh to himself. 

"What's so funny?" said the little man in front of him unpleasantly. "Does our suffering amuse you, sir?" 

Geralt's good mood soured. He took great care not to smile again as the peasant, a man with black teeth and white hair, ranted and raved for several more minutes about blighted crops and ruined harvests. 

"And to top it off," he said, raising a finger high in the air, "our daughter was bewitched to run off with that Bessie from the village, and now gods know where they are, what with Bessie cutting off all her hair and calling herself John so's nobody would catch them, and-" 

"This is not a problem I can fix," Geralt said, cutting him off. "It sounds like your water supply is being contaminated." 

The man glowered. "By what?" 

Geralt sniffed the air, and grimaced. "Your cesspit. Dig a new one or move."

"Move... move! Move, he says, from my heritage, my given right, my family home..."

Perhaps the biggest thing this man needed was someone to talk to. A friendly ear and a few "oh"s and "mhm"s and a kind stranger to check in on him. Someone with patience and understanding and time to spare. 

Geralt was not that someone. He extricated himself from the situation after emphasising that there was really nothing he could do, and began to walk away. 

"Typical! The youth never respect the elderly! I've never been so mistreated!" 

I'm older than you, Geralt thought. He got ready to hitch himself onto Roach and leave this horrible little hamlet for good, when there was a shout from his right. He turned his head to see a messenger dressed in unsuitably fine regalia running towards him, waving a scroll, his face red and sweaty. 

"Witcher!" he yelled. "Stay! Wait a moment!" 

Geralt waited. Soon, the messenger was at his side, panting and thrusting out the scroll for Geralt to take. 

"Read it... if you would... a summons... the Fortenzes... blimey, I'm too old for this kind of thing now..."

Geralt read it. His eyes crinkled up into disbelief as he went further down the page, before his expression settled somewhere at  _ resigned _ . 

"Take me to him," he said. "Quickly."

The poisonous glare the messenger shot him went unnoticed. 


End file.
